I Thought It Was Over at Seven
by Harry Albus Potter Dumbledore
Summary: A normal day on the island quickly turns from good to bad when Gilligan suffered from an unexpected asthma attack, something he thought he had gotten over at age seven. The cause: running the entire distance from the lagoon to the campsite to informed his fellow Castaways about what he had caught while fishing. However, he isn't able to because of the attack. Some family bonding.


**A/N: **Hey, I thought since I promised to participate in the 500 for 50 challenge that I would keep my word. I would like to apologize now for the possible out-of-character of Mrs. Howell and the rush feeling you will probably get during and after reading this one-shot. I'm sorry, but I wanted to get this in before we reached our goal. We only need 6 more stories after I post this little story.

I, of course, am taking a few writing liberties here with this one-shot. First with the asthma since I don't think it had become a health concern in the early 60's like it is today and secondly, the island made nebulizer. Finally, the date of this story. I mostly follow the airing dates of the show, but I didn't quite agree with the year, which is why I put the setting of the story in '63.

I have done some research on the topic and anything connecting to it. I apologize if I have something incorrect. Please let me know if I do and I will fix it.

This chapter is unbeta at the moment. I apologize for the many mistake and (in my opinion) poor quality of the story. I'm planning to go over this once more and fix a few things. Please let me know if you would let to be my beta for this one-shot, either in a review or pm.

The song that Mrs. Howell sang in this story was called, **"(****Goodnight, My Angel,) Lullaby" by Billy Joel.**

I don't own _Gilligan's Island. _Unfortunately, Sherwood Schwartz does. If I were the creator, I would have did the whole Hunter episode differently. However, I'm only allowed to play with his characters.

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**The Professor's Hut**

**Saturday, May 18, 1963**

I feel my heart breaking into thousands of tiny pieces and my eyes burning with unshed tears at the distressing sight beside me. Gilligan was lying on his back under the covers and sleeping peacefully. Yet, that wasn't the cause of my sorrow. The reason for my emotional outburst was the bamboo facemask over his mouth and nose, and the small tube that connected it with the islandmade nebulizer the Professor created for him. The sight of the two items haunted me every time I would notice it, but that wasn't all that frightened me. What terrified me the most was seeing how pale and exhausted the poor boy was, and yet he had been sleeping for hours.

Instead of sitting in the bamboo and grass chair placed beside the Professor's cot, which is where the first mate was resting, I laid next to him on my side. A worried expression felt permanently glued to my face as I switched my gaze from Gilligan to my right hand, which was laced with his, to the other hand that was gently stroking the sailor's hair in a motherly fashion.

I focused my attention back on the young man my husband and I consider a son and could hear the occasional hitching of his breath over the soft humming of the battery operated machine. I contributed with my part of the noise in the hut with an occasional whisper of reassurances and soothing words of comfort in his right ear every time his breathing would hitch. Evidently, the soft words seemed to calm him in his peaceful slumber. A loving kiss on his forehead gave him an extra bit of comfort when his breathing would hitch several times in a limited span of time.

This week had been simply terrible, one of the worst since we landed here on this dreadful little island. The first was the horrible magic trick fiasco. All the poor boy wanted to do was show us the magic tricks he had learned and make us happy. Instead of receiving smiles and applauds, Gilligan was rewarded with the captain yelling at him and cruel words spoken by all of us. However, the latter was never meant for the youngest Castaway's ears. Our intentions weren't malicious. We were just simply venting our frustrations with the dear boy and the ruined meal we never were able to eat.

Once we discovered the former Navy sailor had heard the awful things we had said about him, all five of us felt horrible, which is what we rightly deserved after the dreadful treatment we gave him. I, myself, felt extremely cold inside as I replayed the past events that led up to the disappearing cabinet, the words I spoke with callous haunting me in my every waking thought.

The men were able to tricked Gilligan back to camp by frightening him with those hideous monster masks the captain had found in the trunk with the magic tricks. We threw a party for him, to make up for our ghastly behavior and to tell him how truly sorry we were. While the party was a delight, we all knew it simply wasn't sufficient. It was a marvelous beginning, but not adequate to make up for the cruel words we all expressed. So ever since then, we each had done a few kinds acts for the first mate.

The Professor built a fire for the sailor. The captain gave him a day off and added Gilligan's chores to his load. Mary Ann made a special dinner and a coconut crème pie just for him. Ginger entertained him with a few of her performances. As for my darling husband and me, we took care of the dear boy for a day, pampering him and waiting for him hand and foot.

A few days later, after the magic trick disaster, was when _it _had occurred. I swallowed a lump in my throat as my mind flashed back to the event that brought the lovable sailor to lie here in his current state.

The dear boy had suffered under an asthma attack, the first one since we were exiled here on this ghastly island, and it was a serious one. The attack was set off by some hard running Gilligan had done, traveling the long distance from the lagoon to the place we had made camp all those months ago.

The day of the attack was simply a normal warm day. Nothing was out of the ordeal. We all greeted each other outside our huts and ate breakfast with a marvelous conversation that lasted from the beginning to the end. Then we all went our separate ways to attend to our various businesses around the island.

After the communal table was set and lunch was about ready, I discovered from the captain that the youngest Castaway was fishing at the lagoon. He prepared to go find Gilligan and informed him that lunch was about ready, when we heard the boy shouting the captain's nickname in an excited manner. The captain stood beside me and muttered under his breath, "I wondered what useless junk Gilligan found now." Words that he thought I wouldn't be able to hear while he rolled his eyes, waiting to see what his first mate brought back instead of the food he was supposed to be catching.

When Gilligan finally appeared in camp, he was breathing heavily, making it quite obvious to us that he had ran the entire distance and probably didn't halt once to rest. While he stop to catch his breath, I studied him, noticing the large smile on his boyish face and the twinkle seen clearly in his ocean-blue eyes. The young man didn't have anything in his hands, so we all assumed rightly that in his excitement he had left whatever he'd found at the lagoon with his fishing supplies.

However, the dear boy breathing was still quite heavy after a few minutes of resting. My gaze rested on his face when I noticed the changes that were occurring at that instant. The joyous smile that was etched on his lips had quickly faded into a frown. The twinkle had vanished from his eyes before a look of sheer terror appeared in them. My gaze lowered when I discovered that Gilligan had fallen to his knees and saw his hands clawing at his throat in a desperate manner. The only sound he produced was a terrible wheezing sound.

"Gilligan!" Mary Ann and Ginger screamed in fright beside the table, their eyes wide open and slender hands covering their gaping mouths as their sights locked on the event that was unfolding before them.

"Gilligan, little buddy!" the captain exclaimed in alarmed, rushing to the poor boy's side. "Gilligan, breathe. You have got to breathe."

The former Navy sailor rapidly shook his head before locking eyes with the captain, who had kneeled down in front of him, calloused hands gently resting on his young first mate's shoulders. "I…can't…Skipper. Asthma," was what I heard in reply from my lounge chair a few inches away, my husband beside me.

"Good Heaven! I think he's experiencing an asthma attack," the Professor announced worriedly. "And by the appearance of the attack, it's a severe one. Quick, Skipper, take him to my hut and laid him on my cot. I'm going to make something to help him breathe."

The captain obeyed the intellect's instructions. He swiftly gathered the thin boy up into his large loving arms and carried him to the Professor's hut.

The next few hours were gruelingly slow and fast at the same time for all of us. It felt like an eternity to us while we waited impatiently for the Professor to come up with something for the poor boy. Yet it was only a matter of minutes before the scientist made an appearance in the hut. Thus, came into play the facemask and nebulizer.

I'm quite thankful for the Professor's cool head and the captain's surprisingly calmness throughout the entire ordeal, because if it wasn't for them, the others and I would have gone into an absolute fright.

All the moment, everyone was sleeping but me, as it was approaching one in the morning, and I took my shift to watch over the boy. We were each taking a shift with Gilligan to make sure he would be alright while keeping a lookout for any complications that might rise.

After fifteen minutes of just watching him and remembering back on the awful day's events, the young sailor began to stir from his peaceful sleep. He turned his head slightly and noticed instantly who was lying beside him, light gleaming in his warm but exhausted blue eyes. "Hey," he whispered hoarsely.

I returned the gesture with my own small, sad smile and kissed the top of his head. Then I pulled back and whispered, "Hello, my dear boy. I'm very pleased to see you're awake and doing better. How do you feel?"

"Tired," he quietly replied, shutting his eyes for a moment before opening them again. "So very tired."

I brought the hand that was gently running through his soft, brown hair and brush the back of it against his cheek that was nearest to me. After, I leaned down and kissed him lightly on his forehead. "Then go back to sleep if you're tired. It's quite late still."

Gilligan suddenly took a deep yawn and shifted his head in the opposite direction for a moment. He returned several seconds later. "Sorry about that. What time is it?"

I rose slightly from the cot and glanced at the large wrist watch the scientist had left on the table. The clock display read: 1: 54 a.m. I lowered myself back onto the cot and met the young man's kind eyes as I gently squeeze his hand that was still encased in mine. "It's approaching two a.m."

"Hmmm," he hummed in acknowledgement, the sound blending in perfectly with the low humming of the nebulizer.

I stroked his dark hair once again, pushing the strands out of his eyes while doing so. I leaned down and whispered into his ear, "You gave us quite a scare today, dear boy. Please, try not to do that to us again."

"I'm sorry," he replied softly in a guilty tone.

"Shh. It's not your fault. You had absolutely no control over it. Just please try not to frighten us like that again."

"Okay," the youngest Castaway tiredly agreed as his eyes fluttered for a few moments. "I didn't see this attack coming. I haven't had an asthma attack since I was a little kid, around seven-years-old, I think. It's why I love to run so much. When I was a child, I wasn't allowed to run because that was what caused the attack in the first place. I remember the sheer frustration and longing I felt back then as I watch the kids outside, who were around my age, running and playing without a single care in a world. I quit having the asthma attacks when I was seven-and-a-half and that's when I began to run."

"I see," I spoke as I gently massaged his head with my fingers. Now," I began, noticing his eyelids were slowly closing. "Can I do anything for you before you go back to sleep?"

He nodded his head, his eyes finally closing. "Can you sing to me? My mom used to sing to me after I had an attack."

"Certainly, my dear boy."

"Thanks, Mom." My smiled grew at hearing him call me 'Mom' as my heart gave a leap in my chest.

Gilligan opened up his eyes once more to look at me, catching the smile on my face. "What's that smile for?"

"You called me Mom," I replied, my voice choking up at the love I felt for this young man. "You have no idea how ecstatic you had just made me."

"Well, to be honest, I think of you and Mr. Howell, and the Skipper as my parents for a while now. I just didn't say anything in case I offended you guys somehow."

I kissed his cheek and pulled him closer to me. "You wouldn't have offended us. Quite the opposite, actually. I speak for my husband when I say we are highly flattered you think of us that way. Thurston and I consider you our son. Maybe not biologically, but you are our son in every other way, and we love you dearly," I whispered into his hair.

"I love you guys, too. Mom," I heard him asked sleepily.

I drew back to look at him, "Yes, my son?"

"Do you think Mr. Howell will mind if I call him 'Dad'?" He was struggling with himself to remain conscious. "I mean, I want to call Skipper 'Dad' too, I just don't want to leave anyone out. To be honest, I think of all of you as family."

"I'm sure he would love that very much, son," I answered tenderly while rubbing small, unseen circles on the back of his hand with my thumb.

"Stay? Please."

I kissed his head once more before I whispered into his ear, "I'm right here. I won't go anywhere unless you want me to."

The former Navy sailor nodded his head and gave me a sleepy smile before his eyelids slid shut for the final time. I opened my mouth and began to sing a lullaby I thought was absolutely perfect for him in my softest, sweetest, most tender voice. As the last notes of the chorus faded into the air, the dear boy heaved a great sigh and relaxed, allowing sleep to claim him.

I continued to stroke Gilligan's hair as he relaxed in his sleep once more. I smiled softy at this marvelous young man that had turned all of our lives completely upside down in all the right ways.

I glanced up when the door opened and saw the other Castaways entered the hut.

"I thought you all went to bed," I spoke softly, making sure I didn't wake up the wonderful boy beside me. "It's quite late."

"We know, Mrs. Howell," the captain replied in a whisper, concern still apparent in his baby blue eyes for his first mate. "We did go to bed, but we couldn't sleep. We just wanted to make sure he was doing alright."

I nodded my head. "Of course. Please, take a seat."

All five Castaways made a spot around Gilligan, planning to stay there for a while. And they did, for when the young sailor woke up the next day, he was greeted with the wonderful sight of his family sleeping around him.

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**A/N: **So how was my first one-shot. Was it as horrible as I thought? Or will you surprise me and tell me it was great? Please try to be honest and let me know what I should work on in order to become a better writer. I sincerely hope Mrs. Howell was in character the entire time. I'm still trying to get a hang of her character since I'm still quite new to this fandom.

If you have a craving for more Gilligan's Island stories, please check out my new Gilligan's Island community where I housed forty stories of Gilligan being the star of the show.

Thank you for reading and please review.


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